Faith In Our Fathers, Part 3

Okay, then…where do you get the bus to Kirkintilloch from? Once upon a time it would be Buchanan Street bus station, but now…

…well, now it was still Buchanan Street bus station. Nice. You complain about change but you're disappointed when it doesn’t happen – it felt like lying to myself.

The bus journey to Kirky…if you’ve done it, you know how it goes; if you haven’t, I can’t entertain you by describing it. It passed.

La Celeste – pardon my Italian – means something like “sky blue” and, fair play to Derek and his business, they hadn’t gone berserkly literal with the style, nor had they replayed the 60s with swirly-glass faux lanterns and candles in raffia chianti bottles. In fact, La Celeste was probably – no, definitely – the most chic post-modern chrome-and-glass trattoria owned by a man called Derek in all of Kirkintilloch’s golden acres.

Derek Ogg was a long way from being Italian, although his hair was awfully black. That is…awful. And black. But so, too, would be anybody’s who used that particular shade of Just For Men and wasn’t too careful about which parts of his hair it colonised and which it didn’t. As we introduced ourselves, thoughts were coursing through my head as to what the hair-care company could possibly call this deadly hair-shade. I decided it would be something like…Midnite Stalker, why not?

“Thanks for comin’ up here, Stephen – Paddy said ‘Stevie’ was okay… aye? Can I get you a wee somethin’? I just opened an Orvieto. Or mibbe you guys go ‘scotch on the rocks, and hold the water’?”

“In the movies, aye. But my last bit of work was lookin’ at Facebook and then telling a call-centre manager his marriage was done cuz his hing-oot had stuck a wee incriminator right on the page there. Hardly the Maltese falcon, so aye, wine is fine. And tell me about your till shrinkage.”

“Well, see, I never noticed it, it was my daughter, Debra. She works here, a few nights, right? She clocked it and told me.”

“You never suspected? How much were you out?”

“Well, I let Debra do the money side when I can – she’s at college after her qualification, know? Catering management? So it’s great experience for her.”

“So…?”

“So, she said were out a wee bit – ten or twenty, jist – some nights, not all the time. Hardly worth botherin’ the coppers with…but ye canny ignore it, am I right?”

“How many people work here, and how many have access to your till?”

“Me, obviously…we’ve got chefs, but they only come out the kitchen when we’re closin’ up, they don’t get to go near the money…”

“Do people not mostly pay on plastic, anyway?”

“Most, aye, but you’d be surprised. And the bar does well, that’s all cash…anyway, there’s Debra, like I say, and Cee-Cee, that’s my wife, doesny really work here, but she comes in most nights. We just live over by Torrance, see?”

“You here every night yourself?”

“Seven/seven. Or is it seven/twenty-four? I dunno. Aye, pretty much every day, except when we’re shut, for holidays and that. I try not to, but you have to work at a business, y’know? The more you do, the more you get back.”

“Any other staff?”

“Oh, aye, Tony – he’s more or less the barman, five days. If he’s on a day off, quiet nights, I do it or Debra does…or somebody else. I s’pose quite a few people have access to the till, one way and another…”

“Somebody else does the bar? Who else?”

“There's only one other full-timer, Rina. She’s…maître d’, I s’pose. And quite a few people do a coupla nights, waiting on tables. Will you want to speak to everybody?”

“Christ, Derek, I hope not. This is a favour to Paddy Haldane and – much that I’m enjoyin’ your Orvieto – there’s a limit to the time I’ve got in my calendar for paybacks that I don’t remember owing in the first place. But hey, that’s ‘tween Paddy and me, not your problem….obvious question – is there anybody you think might be doin’ this? If it was Debra first clocked it, did she say anything about who she thought was at it?”

“Eh? Naw…ah…no, she jist noticed it. That’s it. If she knew, she’d jist tell me, right? No need to call in a detective when you know what’s up already, eh? Nothing to detect.”

“Well. Normally, Derek, I’d agree with you. No need, especially when the meter’s off. Normally...”